


Je vois la vie en rose

by ZoS



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: COVID-19, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Quarantine, Romance, Stay the fuck home!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoS/pseuds/ZoS
Summary: COVID-19 has hit the world badly and quarantine isn't easy. It's especially hard for one Miranda Priestly.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 29
Kudos: 231





	Je vois la vie en rose

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't want to write a Corona fic because escapism is the key word, but, well, you get inspired by the happenings around you and there's very little happening around me at the moment so...

Scrambled eggs with carmalized onions and mushrooms. Toasted bread and expensive cheeses. Parfait with strawberries on top. Piping hot coffee and a single rose freshly plucked from a bush in the backyard. Andy felt really quite proud of herself.

Miranda should, too, considering how down she'd been lately. Understandably so, Andy knew: for a person who loved, lived, and breathed work, cold turkey was the worst way to quit something that was almost as much an addiction as alcoholism. But after weeks of arguments and stubborn resistance, even the empress of the world's fashion industry had been forced to relent when officials even higher than herself had announced that _Elias-Clarke Publications_ would be closing its doors for the forseeable future and putting all non-essential employees on unpaid leave.

For most of said employees, that was a severe blow to the wallet. Miranda didn't have a lot to worry about in the money department aside from some hundreds of thousands lost in the ever growing stock market collapse. But the deadly virus of apocalyptic proportions, which seemed to have come straight out of a dystopian film, was threatening not just her bank account and physical health.

With no magazine to dedicate her all to, without the ability to glam up and leave the house to a fancy restaurant, with her own daughters forced to stay away from the house they'd grown up in, Miranda was slowly showing signs of losing her mind.

And Andy, as her loving, supportive significant other, was bearing the brunt of it.

And that was the least of it. Years by Miranda's side had taught her to handle almost every mood, and if it weren't for the _other_ thing, she might have been able to.

The other thing was Paris Fashion Week. The most important week of Miranda's year. The one she'd been attending religiously and ruling ever since being granted the editor-in-chief position at _Runway_ and before that. The one she wouldn't be able to attend, that had been canceled for the first time in nearly half a century. Months of meticulous preparations and starry-eyed anticipation had gone down the drain in one publicized statement and Miranda's emotional capacity had been quick to follow.

Well, no more. Miranda might not be able to do what she loved and she might be crankier than Andy had ever seen her be in their fifteen years of acquaintance, but it was all about to be turned around. It was the little things, Andy mused, smiling down at the tray in her hands.

Balancing the elaborate breakfast against her hip, she pushed the bedroom door open and chirped, "Goood morning, rise and shine-- and you're already up."

From the bed across the room, Miranda sent her a baleful glare and went right back to typing on her laptop keyboard. In the dark room, the bright light from the screen lit her face, unpleasantly accentuating the lines, bags, and vestiges of sleep, and even so, she appeared to already be hard at work, eyes focused like a hawk as the light flickered on her glasses.

"I made breakfast." Andy flashed her warmest smile, trying with all her might to cling onto the hope that she could improve this morning.

"I'm not hungry," Miranda replied through her teeth. So, it was going to be _that_ kind of morning. Again.

"Okay, well, maybe just drink the coffee while it's hot?" she tried, carefully placing the tray on the mattress and perching next to it. She might as well have been talking to a wall. "I'm just trying to help."

"Really?" was Miranda's dry response. "Can you help me leave the house?"

Cringing, Andy looked away. "Well... you know you're in the risk group and..." she faltered when she was met with another glare, deadlier than the virus; if there was one thing that irritated Miranda more than answers to rhetorical questions, it was reminders of her age.

But Andy was getting irritated, too, the calm, cheerful morning she'd planned evaporating before her eyes like a puff of smoke. "I don't know why you're mad at me. I didn't release this virus and it's not my fault you can't leave. I'm stuck here just like you."

"Yes. Freelancing is so hard to do from home." Behind her glasses, Miranda's eyes were rolling. "Tell me, how many offers have you gotten in the past week alone?"

Lips pinched, Andy had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep her mouth shut. She stared at Miranda, and if Miranda had looked back, she'd have seen the daggers shooting from her eyes. As it was, Andy abandoned the breakfast she had worked so hard on and stormed into the en suite. Miranda didn't call after her.

But by that afternoon, Andy had had enough of the silent treatment. She'd already written a new article and edited another, had lunch while Miranda cloistered herself up in her home office with her own plate, rearranged the kitchen cupboards, and resigned herself to the non-routine routine developed over the last couple of weeks, by which point she was so bored she was ready to tear her own hair out.

"Miranda," she said from the office's doorway. Behind the desk, Miranda was staring at her laptop screen, her glasses reflecting rows upon rows of words as she concentrated on reading. If she hadn't known better, Andy would have thought she was about to leave the house to her actual office by the crisp, striped pantsuit she was wearing, the jewelry and makeup adorning her skin, and her impeccably coiffed coiffure. But Andy had waited until the voices from behind the door died down to interrupt, which meant that while not being able to reign over her kingdom from her throne, Miranda had joined many other workplaces in adopting the conference video call method.

"Miranda," she repeated more firmly when no response was forthcoming. This time, a "Hmm?" was her answer, so at least that was an improvement.

"Let's do something," she beseeched, stepping further into the room. "I didn't realize we'd have to be isolated from each other as well."

"I'm working," said Miranda, her eyes never leaving the screen. "In case you forgot, I still have an online magazine to run. Though god knows what we'll have to work with next month," she added almost under her breath.

"Yeah," Andy concluded, "and you're miserable."

"Of course I'm miserable," Miranda snapped and finally lifted her gaze from the computer, although Andy didn't feel that much better having her attention directed at her, not with the fire dancing in her eyes. "Everything is ruined, Andrea: my magazine, my job, Paris--"

"It's not gonna stay this way for long," she countered but couldn't quite bring herself to believe it. After all, if one thing about this pandemic was certain, it was the uncertainty. The whole world, it seemed, from rich to poor, from scientists and medical professionals to country rulers, was in the dark, united by fear and camaraderie. It was awful to see Miranda this way, but if it meant she didn't expose herself to the infected world outside, then it was definitely better than the alternative.

Miranda, however, was already a professional at reading her mind. "You don't know that."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Andy sighed. "Wallow in our misery?"

"Yes." Miranda's lips curled in a snarl as she stared her down, and that was that.

Except it wasn't. Andy wasn't going to let it be. They were screwed--that much was indisputable. Their life, as had everyone else's lives, had been turned upside down and the chaos showed no signs of calming down any time soon. But Andy would be damned if she didn't manage to find at least a few moments of joy in the midst of all the awfulness, to make the best out of a dire circumstance.

So she went into Cassidy's old room and rummaged around in the closet. And she opened the fridge and extracted pans out of the cabinets. She turned her own laptop back on and she found her phone's bluetooth speakers, and when she was done, she went into her and Miranda's closet and shut the door behind her.

It was later in the evening when she looked around at her finished work and by that time, the street outside the large living room windows had gone dark, the lights inside reflected in the glass, making the outside glow as well with their golden movements. Andy smiled.

"Miranda," she called toward the stairs. "Can you come down here for a second?"

Miranda, of course, was not much for yelling back, but sure enough, several moments later Andy heard the sound of footsteps above her head and braced herself as they padded down the stairs, approached the living room, grew louder and louder.

Miranda's voice held her obvious agitation when she said, "What is it..." but when she entered the living room and took in the sight before her, it trailed off and died.

Mouth agape, eyes wonderous, Andy watched as she looked around, likely marveling at the twinkly lights and burning candles in the dim room. She must have been appreciating the slideshow of pictures on the flat-screen TV on the wall, showing the Eiffel Tower, Place Charles-de-Gaulle, Notre-Dame, Champs-Élysées, and Seine, to name a few. The scents wafting from the kitchen might have pleased her with the promise of seafood. And when her eyes landed on Andy and traveled up and down her body, there was no doubting her pleasure with what she was seeing, and the tongue running against her lips was further proof of that.

"Welcome to Paris," Andy declared softly, coming closer. In her hands she held two glasses of white wine, coincidentally brought home from their previous year's trip to Paris Fashion Week. One she handed to Miranda, who wrapped feeble fingers around the stem. Her eyes were still wandering across Andy's body.

"I was gonna wear this on the first night there, at _Dior_ 's afterparty, but..." she explained, running her free hand across the silk of her dress. It was a mermaid evening gown, eggplant purple, with off-the-shoulder straps, made by said designer. Simple in its design, but striking in its beauty, and as Miranda's gaze lingered a little longer at her hips, Andy knew she'd made the right choice.

"What is this?" Miranda finally asked, although the peevishness that had laced her voice prior was absent now.

Andy's smile widened. "Well... if we can't go to Paris, I figured I'd bring Paris to us."

"When did you do all this?" Miranda questioned, looking around once again. In her eyes, the soft glow of the twinkly lights gleamed, her skin radiant.

"While you were sulking in your office," Andy answered plainly, but before she could see Miranda's scowl, she remembered. "Oh! I almost fogot." Turning around, she grabbed her phone from the side table by the sofa. Seconds later, a soft tune floated from the speakers, filling the room with the sound of violins. Andy returned to Miranda's side and offered her outstretched hand. "Shall we?"

Within moments, they were swaying gently in the middle of the room as Edith Piaf's voice sang, _"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche..."_ Miranda's cheek was soft and warm against Andy's, her arm wrapped securely around her lower back, her other hand holding lightly onto Andy's own.

" _Chanel Egoiste_ ," she remarked approvingly and pressed her nose below Andy's ear, taking another sniff of the French perfume.

"I thought you'd like it," Andy replied before spinning them around. When they stopped, Miranda leaned back, looking fondly into her eyes.

"You can say it," she said, her quiet voice almost drowned out by the music. "I know you want to."

"Say what?" Andy feigned ignorance.

With her gaze rising momentarily heavenward, Miranda surrendered. "I was impossible." Which was an understatement, but--

"Well." Andy smiled sweetly and wrapped her arms around her neck. "I didn't say anything." Miranda, perhaps as a reward, caressed both hands up and down her hips, her touch slow and warm.

"In any case," she continued and hugged Andy close, "thank you."

"You're welcome." It then seemed like a mutual decision to stop talking altogether, and when their lips locked, Andy felt all the stress of the last couple of weeks ebb away from her body, leaving her light and buoyant. Miranda's hand stroked up her side as she deepened the kiss, then stroked up and down the arm draped over her shoulder until goosebumps rose on the bare skin.

"I love you," Andy whispered when they parted. _"Des nuits d'amour à plus finir, un grand bonheur qui prend sa place,"_ Edith sang.

"I love you, too," Miranda replied and moved closer, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek as if she couldn't bear to lose contact for one second. They continued to dance.

"Are you hungry?" Andy asked some time later. Miranda, in response, eyed her figure once more and did indeed look hungry.

"Hmm... yes."

"I made food," she emphasized, but was unable to keep the mischief out of her voice, the laughter out of her eyes.

"Food can wait," Miranda replied flippantly and stepped back. Her expression was positively scorching when she added, "I suppose I have a lot of making up to do."

Looking down at the hand offered to her, Andy's smile grew. Outside, the world might have gone mad, but tonight the townhouse was filled with happiness and love. It really was the small things, she thought as she let Miranda lead her out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys are being safe and if you're not, please stay home! Feel free to let me know in the comments how quarantining is working for you and give me some suggestions on how to pass the time. By the time this nightmare is over, I think we'll all have become extroverts.


End file.
